We offered him money, but he would not touch it, and so
we parted.
A path, or rather a ledge cut along the perpendicular face of a
rocky mass 200 feet high, led from the chief temple to our vihara.
A man needs good eyes, sure feet, and a very strong head to avoid
sliding down the precipice at the first false step. Any help
would be quite out of the question, for, the ledge being only two
feet wide, no one could walk side by side with another. We had to
walk one by one, appealing for aid only to the whole of our personal
courage. But the courage of many of us was gone on an unlimited
furlough. The position of our American colonel was the worst,
for he was very stout and short-sighted, which defects, taken
together, caused him frequent vertigos. To keep up our spirits
we indulged in a choral performance of the duet from Norma, "Moriam'
insieme," holding each other's hands the while, to ensure our being
spared by death or dying all four in company. But the colonel did
not fail to frighten us nearly out of our lives. We were already
half way up to the cave when he made a false step, staggered, lost
hold of my hand, and rolled over the edge. We three, having to
clutch the bushes and stones, were quite unable to help him. A
unanimous cry of horror escaped us, but died away as we perceived
that he had succeeded in clinging to the trunk of a small tree,
which grew on the slope a few steps below us. Fortunately, we
knew that the colonel was good at athletics, and remarkably cool
in danger. Still the moment was a critical one. The slender stem
of the tree might give way at any moment. Our cries of distress
were answered by the sudden appearance of the mysterious Sadhu
with his cow.
They were quietly walking along about twenty feet below us, on
such invisible projections of the rock that a child's foot could
barely have found room to rest there, and they both traveled as
calmly, and even carelessly, as if a comfortable causeway were
beneath their feet, instead of a vertical rock. The Sadhu called
out to the colonel to hold on, and to us to keep quiet. He patted
the neck of his monstrous cow, and untied the rope by which he
was leading her. Then, with both hands he turned her head in our
direction, and clucking with his tongue, he cried "Chal!" (go).
With a few wild goat-like bounds the animal reached our path, and
stood before us motion-less. A for the Sadhu himself, his movements
were as swift and as goat-like. In a moment he had reached the tree,
tied the rope round the colonel's body, and put him on his legs again;
then, rising higher, with one effort of his strong hand he hoisted
him up to the path. Our colonel was with us once more, rather
pale, and with the loss of his pince-nez, but not of his presence
of mind.
An adventure that had threatened to become a tragedy ended in a farce.
"What is to be done now?" was our unanimous in-quiry. "We cannot
let you go alone any further."
"In a few moments it will be dark and we shall be lost," said Mr.
Y - -, the colonel's secretary.
And, indeed, the sun was dipping below the horizon, and every
moment was precious. In the meanwhile, the Sadhu had fastened
the rope round the cow's neck again and stood before us on the
pathway, evidently not understanding a word of our conversation.
His tall, slim figure seemed as if suspended in the air above the
precipice. His long, black hair, floating in the breeze, alone
showed that in him we beheld a living being and not a magnificent
statue of bronze. Forgetting our recent danger and our present
awkward situation, Miss X - -, who was a born artist, exclaimed:
"Look at the majesty of that pure profile; observe the pose of
that man. How beautiful are his outlines seen against the golden
and blue sky. One would say, a Greek Adonis, not a Hindu!" But
the "Adonis" in question put a sudden stop to her ecstasy. He
glanced at Miss X - - with half-pitying, half-kindly, laughing eyes,
and said with his ringing voice in Hindi -
"Bara-Sahib cannot go any further without the help of someone else's
eyes. Sahib's eyes are his enemies. Let the Sahib ride on my cow.
She cannot stumble."
"I! Ride on a cow, and a five-legged one at that? Never!" exclaimed
the poor colonel, with such a helpless air, nevertheless, that we
burst out laughing.
"It will be better for Sahib to sit on a cow than to lie on a chitta"
(the pyre on which dead bodies are burned), remarked the Sadhu with
modest seriousness. "Why call forth the hour which has not yet struck?"
The colonel saw that argument was perfectly useless, and we succeeded
in persuading him to follow the Sadhu's advice, who carefully hoisted
him on the cow's back, then, recommending him to hold on by the fifth
leg, he led the way. We all followed to the best of our ability.
In a few minutes more we were on the verandah of our vihara, where
we found our Hindu friends, who had arrived by another path. We
eagerly related all our adventures, and then looked for the Sadhu,
but, in the meanwhile, he had disappeared together with his cow.
"Do not look for him, he is gone by a road known only to himself,"
remarked Gulab-Sing carelessly. "He knows you are sincere in your
gratitude, but he would not take your money.
